


Beneath The Pale Moonlight

by ariddletobesolved



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies), Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Jelsa Week 2020 (Disney/Rise Of The Guardians), Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27426958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariddletobesolved/pseuds/ariddletobesolved
Summary: A set of drabbles I wrote for Jelsa Week 2020. Will be updated, as I post all the 7 prompts.
Relationships: Elsa (Disney)/Jack Frost (Guardians of Childhood)
Kudos: 16





	1. Beneath the Pale Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> Jelsa Week 2020, Day 1: Moonlight

* * *

The sky is awake and the moon is smiling. Or at least she thinks so.

From where she is sitting, on a big rock by the river banks, the night is looking alive, with Aurora Borealis dances around the big moon. A night like this is hers to treasure, and she doesn't want to share it with anyone else. Well, anyone but two special persons in her life.

Oh, how she misses them!

Sighing softly, the Fifth Spirit closes her eyes. Sure, she misses _him_ so very much. Living far away from Anna is hard enough, and she feels emptier when he is away. _Him_ , the Winter Spirit.

She can only imagine him sitting beside her, pulling her close to him as they admire the breathtaking view before them. How he will nuzzle the crook of her neck, peppering frosty kisses just to tease her. And she will laugh, _or maybe moan_ , as he presses his lips against that certain spot over the beating pulse.

 _Oh, Jack!_

He will leave her breathless, before he draws her in by her waist to close the gap between them. She will return the kiss with the same passion, running her hand over his silvery hair, tugging gently when he bites her lower lip, earning himself a moan and an entrance. And they will continue to love each other, through the small kisses and the gentle caresses, until the break of dawn.

There is only one witness of their love. The moon.

"Do you know when he is going to come back?" She finally asks out loud, her eyes flutter open.

The silence that answers her question is oddly serene, and a small smile plays on her lips. The gleaming moonlight that seems to look brighter, as if it is smiling wider, is enough to tell her that he is going to come back to her very soon. And she is glad.

Often did she find him talking to the moon once the night fell. She would pretend to fall asleep in his embrace, but she listened everything. And when he confessed how much he loved her, she would try to not cry, for the feeling in her chest was a little too much.

He loves her, that's for sure.

And she knows that.

Glancing at the moon, she smiles. 

Somewhere out there, he must be staring at the same sky. Maybe he will think of her and smile. _Or maybe he won't_. The voice at the back of her head says.

Doubts. She will be lying if she says that she has never had doubts. She is new to love, romantic, sexual love, and the memory of those 13 years of isolation still haunts her mind. But at the end of the day, their love still wins.

No, she shall not doubt his love. She tells herself. _Jack loves me._

"Come home to me, Jack." She whispered softly, hoping that the wind will carry her voice to him.

 _Come home._ It doesn't sound needy, she hopes. Then again, she misses him very much.

As a gust sweeps past her, the Fifth Spirit closes her eyes once again. There's a tiny voice, a gentle whisper of words that can make her stomach flutter and her heart beat faster.

"I'm coming home, Elsa."


	2. Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jelsa Week 2020, Day 2: Modern World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: angst ahead.

Some people said, ‘What’s done is done, there’s no turning back.’ 

As much as I hate it, I have to agree with the statement. We can’t turn back the time, for sure. And I regret it. I regret what I did to you that day. Now that I can’t do anything about it, I hate the part of myself that was convincing me to walk away just like that.

I still remember your touch, how genuine that was. You held me close, my back was pressed against your chest, as we watched a soap opera on the telly. It was a late night and the snow was falling outside your small flat. 

It was the first winter we spent together. Everything was fine. It was alright. We weren’t arguing. And we were so very happy.

Everything seemed to be under control whenever you were around. You always kept me on track, reminding me about everything I have to do for the week. And you kept me grounded, that’s what people used to say.

You picked me up from work, a hospital in Queens. It was miles away from where you lived, but you didn’t mind. Not for one bit. Then we went to grab some dinner at Nancy's, our favourite place. You would ask how my day went, and I would reply with the first thing that came on my mind. Then I told you how my parents fought, again. And you comforted me, planting a deep kiss on my lips. 

I would say, ‘I am sorry for bothering you with my sad story.’ 

You didn’t reply, as you smiled on the ride me home.

There are little things about you I still remember, like the way you run your hand through your brown hair when you’re nervous, or the way you scratch your chin whenever you’re thinking. I wonder if you still do that. I bet you’re feeling better now that I am no longer there to prevent you from scratching your chin. 

I still can’t forget the way your brown eyes widened whenever I surprised you with hugs or kisses attack. You would laugh as I jumped on your back or standing on my toes to do that, because you’re slightly taller.

We were perfect, our friends said. And another person who agreed was your Mum. How is she? I hope she’s well. I miss her stories and her jokes. I will always remember all those times you asked me to visit your home in Burgess, to meet your Mum. She is a wonderful woman, a mother I’ve never had. She is different than my step mother, who is rather full of herself. I pray she will always be alright.

I often ask myself these questions: ‘What happened to those happy days? Why are those happy memories not enough in saving what we had?’ 

I don’t have the exact answer.

Assumptions are the only things I have. I guess I was too scared to continue. Or perhaps I was too caught up in pursing my goals that I decided to put you aside. After all, you used to say that I have better potentials that you do.

Now that I think about it, the problem has always been me. I was the one who hurt you. My words were the ones that pushed you away. And my action was the one that ended it all. You told me that you would always support me, near or far, in person or long distance. But I was the one who drove you away.

I am sorry I jumped on that plane.

I am sorry I refused the flowers you handpicked from your mother’s garden.

And I am sorry I told you I’ve never loved you.

I have ever loved you, Jack. Perhaps, I still am, although it’s been two years. And I guess I am catching an old feeling I can’t let go of.

When I was on that plane, your face was all I could think of. A pretty face with invisible scars. You were hurt. Your brown eyes were no longer sparkling. If only you knew that my heart was shattering like yours.

Today is the first day of winter in Oslo. The snow is falling outside my window as I am writing this. Oddly enough, it reminds me of you.

How is Manhattan Jack? Do you still enjoy the sunset? Are things alright with you?

There are questions I wish to ask you, in person preferably. But I don’t think that could happen anytime soon, given the circumstances we are in. You, in Manhattan, and me, on this cold hospital bed.

You see, Jack, a year ago I was diagnosed with an incurable disease, a cancer. A bit ironic, don’t you think? But it is what it is.

I am sorry, Jack.

I am sorry for that day. I was so stupid for doing that. If only I could turn back the time. 

But all that matters now is your own happiness. I hope you’re always happy, Jack. I really do.

I wish to see your smile for one last time, because the last time I saw your face was the day I hurt you. And I hope I could feel your hand in mine. Lord knows how much I hate myself right now!

I wonder what would have had become of us, had I not done that. Would we still be together? Doesn’t matter, now.

Honestly, I am glad I decided to write this—I don’t know—letter? It makes me feel emotionally better.

I miss you, Jack.

(If you were here, you would probably say, ‘Elsa, stop blaming yourself!’)

I'm sorry, Jack. I'm wishing all the best for you, in life, and in love. 

Thank you for everything.

Yours Truly,

_Your Elsa x_


End file.
